


Gift

by lobsterkaijin



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate title to this work:, M/M, Masaomi is a clueless idiot and the Donquixote Family are not much better, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterkaijin/pseuds/lobsterkaijin
Summary: "What is a gift worthy ofyou,Doflamingo?"Weren't birds supposed to have hollow bones? So why is this one so dense? This takes place earlier on in the relationship, their first Valentine's spent together. Masaomi has never felt so lost in the matters of the heart, and yet here he is, struggling to find the perfect gift for his beloved big bird.





	Gift

“ _So?_ ” Sugar comes bouncing on the couch, sending grapes tumbling all over her skirt and the cushions. 

With his attention still on the strategy game he’s playing with Trebol, Masaomi doesn’t miss a beat in responding with a sing-song “ _So_ what, my dear?” He almost moves his piece to a square two spaces lateral, until he sees a slight twitch in the Officer’s lip, and instead skips ahead one space diagonal, to Trebol’s chagrin. Kicking his chair back, Trebol stands and fumes over Masaomi’s cheap tactics. When his mouth is wide open, Sugar sees her opportunity and whips a grape at lightning speed into the Officer’s mouth. It hits the bullseye in the back of Trebol’s throat, and he topples over his chair, choking. Sugar rolls off the couch in laughter.

Masaomi’s trying not to look impressed, really he is, for he feels a great deal of sympathy, poor Trebol! Truly, Masaomi feels the pain deep in his gut! What a dent in a man’s ego! The wound to the pride must be greater than the wound to the body, though it feels the Officer is severely over-acting the bodily wound part. Trebol is hacking and sputtering and bent over the playing board like he’s going to lose a lung. It was a mere grape, man!

Every time Sugar thinks she’s done laughing, she takes one look at Trebol’s purple face and falls right back into it. In between gasping breaths, she manages to get out, “Masa, did you see that?”

Struggling to hold in a laugh, Masaomi slides the playing board away from Trebol’s flailing arms and flying spit. “Could it be you were an archer in a past life, Miss Sugar?” Masaomi’s comment sends her into another fit of giggles on the floor.

Jora slams her fist on the table, cards crumpling in her hand. “What a pain! Trebol, keep it down!” Trebol attempts a response but is unable to, and trying only gets spit in the woman’s hair, which makes her go red with anger, and she whacks the Officer in his knee, yelling “Outta my face!” He lets out a wheeze and crumples. Oh dear, he’s going to be feeling that one in the morning.

Seated at the other side of the table, Lao G sets his cards down to rub at his temples. He swats the Officer out of the way as he’s begging for help but the bastard just won’t quit. “How pathetic! Defeated by a little girl?” The old man strikes a pose with his hand, ramming Trebol to the ground with the other. “A _G_ irl! There’s the G!”

Masaomi peers over to see a blue-faced Trebol on the floor, his tongue lolling limp across the side of his mouth. Perhaps grapes are too difficult for the elderly? He hops to the Officer’s side and gives his epigastric area a good dig of the elbow. The offending grape relinquishes its hold on Trebol’s life and shoots out to stick an olympic landing straight in Jora’s hair. Through her screeching, Sugar rises to give him a raucous applause and yells out, “Ten out of ten, you’re going for gold!”

He scoops her up in a bundle and jumps up on the couch. “ _Raah!_ They’ve done it! A feat like never before! _Raah_!” Bouncing from couch to tabletop, Sugar is powerless to break from Masaomi’s grip, left to squeal and squirm as he brags about his win.

Jora’s on her knees lamenting the tainting of the artwork that is her hair, Lao G is howling about kids these days and their lack of respect for their elders, and Trebol has finally found his voice, which he uses to yell at Masaomi and Sugar. Their games are long forgotten, game pieces and cards strewn about, fated to be stepped on by someone or other. There’s a break in the commotion and that’s when Sugar seizes the chance to speak. She pulls Masaomi’s ear and screams. “Masa, you idiot! I had something important to say! Lemme down!”

He stops, leg mid-air, mere inches away from connecting with Jora’s face. “Yes, my dear? How may I assist you?”

Sugar drops down from Masaomi’s hold and dusts herself off. Really, she wasn’t some kid who needed to be held! Even if his arms were big and strong, and his chest was so warm, only kids liked being held! “What did you get Doffy?”

Masaomi’s stare is blank. “Get…?”

There’s a collective gasp from them. At once they’ve surrounded him. Jora waggles a finger in front of his face. “ _Tsk, tsk,_ I knew there was something strange about you being here!”

Lao G shakes his head. “You really are an idiot.”

They stare at him. He cocks his head. Are they expecting something from him? He cannot recall a delivery request, and if he did recently deliver something, it would be to the pier, where Vergo’s men worked. Doflamingo rarely asked for personal deliveries. “I am not aware of any new requests Master Doflamingo has of me.”

Sugar climbs up the side of the couch and grabs Masaomi’s face. “You can’t be serious. How could you forget?”

Jora melts to the ground, a horrified whimper escaping her. “Of all the days, why this one?”

“Is there something special about today?” Brows furrowed, Masaomi’s eyes fall closed as he seeks to envision the calendar in his office. Well it certainly is February, that much he can recall. It is not any less than the twelfth. He is certain, because he signed a completion form on the eleventh for a contractor who needed her dog trained to be a ghost hunter, and it has been at least one day since then. It cannot be any more than the eighteenth, for he was scheduled to deliver a shipment of pig’s feet to a butcher that day. Ah yes, now he remembers! With the confidence of an exhibitionist, he throws his hands out. “It is only the fifteenth! Have I missed someone’s birthday?”

This revelation receives a collective groan from his companions. Trebol slaps Masaomi. “You fool! It is the _fourteenth_!”

Masaomi stands to ponder yet again. “Are you all certain? Perhaps I exist in a parallel universe where it is in fact the fifteenth?”

Lao G knocks the bounty hunter on the head. “Is there anybody home up there?” The half smile that’s returned to him is his answer.

Jora cries out and grabs Masaomi’s arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “While the young master’s not here, you must hurry! If this were anyone else, you could get away with something cheap, but this is the young master we’re talking about!”

Sugar shoves him with all the might her little body can muster. Masaomi is unmoved. “I can’t believe you didn’t get anything for Doffy! You’re awful!”

On her own, she’s weak, but soon Jora and Lao G have joined in her efforts, and before he knows it, Masaomi has been all but thrown out the door with the order to go find something that’s worthy of being called Doflamingo’s Valentine’s gift. 

He’s faced with two paths. The door to the playroom was shut and locked behind him, a dead end. The stairs are wide open, wrapping around the support, leading to an open door, to the market. The market where he’s supposed to find a worthy gift. Another dead end. At least it’s a dead end with distractions.

Masaomi descends step by step, eyes focused through the stain glass, set upon the city below. Beautiful beaches, pristine water to swim in, and a sky that saw no clouds; what a sight it is, the island of Dressrosa, and it all belongs to Doflamingo. Music drifts through the windows, lifts his chin with its playful inflections. The smell of the sea tickles his nose. Doflamingo is a king — rich, powerful, satisfied. All the money in the world, no need nor want unmet. Cards to play with and a castle to play in. Gold that shines, wine and the women to spill it on. The most expensive fabric with shoes to match. The world spun on his finger. What is there that Doflamingo doesn’t already have? What is a gift worthy of a king?

Worthy, what does that mean? Having worth? And to whom must it have worth? Doflamingo, or himself? What _is_ worth? It must have meaning to _someone_ , but that someone will never be him. Maybe somewhere out there exists a set of guidelines and rules, and maybe he was sick the day they handed those out. It’s not their fault, they could never know that he cannot be expected to find a worthy gift when he has no idea what it means to be worth _anything_. 

Masaomi’s body moves on its own, carried by the sounds of love and laughter. Sweet candy and flowery perfume drown his senses, bathing him in a hazy warmth. The young and the old waltz in a timeless rhythm around him, a rhythm he learns rather well to slip like sand between them. Across the street a department store looms above the crowd, donned with red and white banners and heart balloons. For sure there would be something in _there_. 

He narrowly avoids separating a couple, and for a second, is distracted by how tightly their hands are bound. Masaomi glances at his own scarred hands. They’re rough, but they serve their purpose, and are dwarfed by Doflamingo’s long fingers and wide palms. Doflamingo doesn’t paint his nails like Masaomi does, and he keeps his nails short and manicured. There are scars on Doflamingo’s hands that Masaomi hasn’t yet found the courage to ask about. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend those hands are running through his hair, and tracing down his cheek. Doflamingo’s features would not betray his intentions, but Masaomi could see it, the reverence in his eyes, the heat of a stare pooling in his very core. If he kept his eyes closed just a little while longer, he could pretend Doflamingo’s hands were wrapped around his own.

He crosses the street before his imagination runs away with him.

Chiming bells and guitar melodies follow him inside to announce his singular presence to the sea of lovebugs and honey bears, and at once a flurry of store clerks are on his trail, their frisky hands sneaking touches wherever they can. Masaomi receives them warmly, flashing a bright shining smile, and they transform from vultures to butterflies, hands over their mouths to hide the giggles and gasps.

“Why’s a handsome man like you all alone on Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, are you buying something for your girlfriend?”

“Maybe you’d like to take me out? I’m free in an hour!”

Masaomi laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I am quite lost, sweet chickadees. Will you help me find my way?”

They’ve gone as red as a cinnamon heart, and their fawning only intensifies. The blonde one’s eyes are focused on somewhere other than his face. “We’ll help you in _any_ way you need!”  The other two, brunettes, nod their heads, also seemingly distracted.

“ _Any_ way I need? I’m forever grateful! Now please, could any of you lovely ladies tell me where I could find a gift that is worthy of a king?”

“That’s like, metaphorical, right?”

Masaomi shakes his head. “A _real_ king, love.”

The three blanche, and pull away to deliberate. Masaomi shifts his weight between his feet, bouncing apprehensively. Doflamingo was returning later today but he didn’t know when. It could be in an hour, or it could be tonight. It could be right _now_. His mind jumps from thought to thought, failure and disappointment and rejection and banishment. Fear twists his stomach. Drowning in his radiating thoughts, he’s unaware the clerks have taken his hand and led him through the perfumes and jewelry, up the stairs and through a set of velvet curtains. They make small talk, ask questions on his weight, his measurements. He answers them with words that have no thought behind them. They don’t notice this change. His smile remains savoury sweet.

It’s when they’re holding up a frilly pair of strings that Masaomi refocuses. The light overhead is a soft red, the room is hot and humid, and it clicks into place where they’ve taken him when he is faced with rows upon rows of lace and leather. It’s an extensive display, he’ll give them that much; all the colours of the rainbow and everything in between, strappy and strapless and topless and bottomless. Windows everywhere, breast and behind. There were pieces Masaomi’s cloudy mind struggled to comprehend, and over there where all the graphic designs were, questionable words and phrases littered the pile, “Kiss me,” “Tease me,” and one that was less than family friendly. There were choice words hanging on his tongue, but he’d lost all form of articulation when he glanced down to his arms and saw a few selections hanging from each hand.

“These would look _so_ good with that tattoo thing you’ve got going on,” one of the brunettes says, all too perky to be innocent.

The other brunette spreads an ensemble across his chest. “Maybe the one with the keyhole in the chest?”

Masaomi drops the hangers. The three are taken aback by the pile at their feet, and they back up further when they sneak a glance at him and realize he’s staring intensely back at them. “D-Do you not like them, sir?”

The corners of his smile falter. “My apologizes, dear chickadees. I fear I have not made myself _clear_ , and now I’ve been made into a fool. Thank you for your time, but I shall look elsewhere.” He shoulders past them.

He walks until he’s lost in the crowd again. Like balloons in the wind his heart shook in his chest. Their chatter swirled in his head, muffled by the blood in his ears. Something about ease of removal for intimate access. His vision spins and he is forced to take a seat at a nearby cafe, declining the offer of a menu with the fear he will be unable to hold his lunch. 

_Intimacy_. That is what people do on this day. They hold hands, they kiss, they go on a candlelit dinner, and then they indulge in each other for dessert. All his clothing grows stifling. Since when was it so hot today? Even after he takes his sweater off, he’s suffocating, doubles over the table with his hand over his mouth. Deep breath, _deep_ breath. One to ten. Out. His harsh breathing settles, and he groans, head falling to the table. Doflamingo’s had plenty of experience with men and women alike. And _him_? What could he offer that the young master hasn’t already had? He’s never… 

Absolutely not. Sex is _not_ a gift worthy of a king. _Anyone_ could do that. And as he comes to find out, as he searches through the market, neither is perfume and jewelry and clothing and stuffed animals and cake and—

Nothing. Nothing is a worthy gift. Doflamingo is not merely a _king_. Doflamingo is his life, his love, his moon and his stars. If Masaomi is the sun, then Doflamingo is the west, calling to his beloved and begging it to fall for him, and how could the sun resist the urge to set when a voice so chilling blankets him in fire? The earth would freeze in an eternal night if only it were the saccharine sound of Doflamingo’s voice beckoning him to sleep.

Masaomi cannot give him anything he does not already have, and it is with that gnawing fear that he returns empty-handed to the castle. Once again, his thoughts fall on the disappointment. What does Doflamingo look like when his expectations haven’t been met? Does he glare, does he frown? Or would it be with sharp words that he lashes out? His chest grows tight. Would Doflamingo raise his hand? It shouldn’t produce the kind of pain that it does, he reasons with himself, sitting on the balcony and watching the door for when Doflamingo arrived. None of it was new to him. _You should be used to it._

His heart leaps up into his throat when the balcony door opens. Doflamingo’s massive figure fills his entire line of sight, the rest of the world fading to nothingness. He’s handsomely dressed in maroon and a black dress shirt, and his heels click as he crosses distance between them. Masaomi counts the steps until there is nowhere he can look that is not occupied by Doflamingo. There it is, the moment their eyes meet. Doflamingo’s face lights up, stealing Masaomi’s breath away. “Little bird, how long you been perched there?”

“An eternity.” Masaomi’s dangling leg swings.

Doflamingo chuckles and leans against the support. “Sorry for making you wait, but hey, you look great for someone your age.”

Masaomi’s laugh is airy, lifting the weight off his chest. Standing, he traipses across the golden beam until he’s within radius to sneak a kiss, but Doflamingo caught him in his periphery just before, and he snakes one arm around Masaomi’s waist to sweep him from his feet and twirl him around. The only sound Masaomi can make is an exclamation of “Oh!” and then Doflamingo is swallowing whatever was going to come next with a kiss.

He’s pressed to a wall with no hope of escape, yet he tangles himself further in the trap with hands grabbing onto every part they can reach, fingers running through Doflamingo’s hair and along his back, digging into the taut shoulder muscles and appreciating the strain of the fabric there. Whatever parts of his brain remaining operational are crashing and burning with the influx of current from his barely functioning senses. The smell of Doflamingo’s cologne is intoxicating, dulling his thoughts and electrocuting his body at the same time, but that cannot compare to the taste of him as Masaomi struggles to accommodate a tongue that wants to play, chasing after him in every sense of the word. When he pulls away he doesn’t go far, still close enough to drink in every breath Masaomi attempts to take.

Masaomi grins. “Miss me?”

Doflamingo snorts and lets his partner down gently. “Cocky little shit.”

They make their way through town, doing the same dance to avoid running into people that Masaomi had done alone earlier, though it requires less effort, as the townsfolk gladly make way for their king. In his excitement Masaomi keeps running ahead, climbing on tables and balancing on fences, rambling on about his day spent with Sugar and Trebol. Every so often he’d return back to Doflamingo’s side to slip their hands together, only to let it go minutes later when he remembers something and runs ahead to climb on infrastructure again. While Masaomi’s eyes roamed the town, Doflamingo’s eyes stayed fixed to Masaomi.

“Do you know where you’re flying to, little bird?”

Masaomi steps on the outstretched hand of an angel statue and spins around. “Not in the slightest!” Doflamingo seems to contemplate something, and then holds his arm out. Masaomi hops down and relinks their fingers together. “Were we going somewhere in particular?”

“ _Fufufu_ , be patient. We’re almost there.”

For the rest of the way, their hands remain together.

The somewhere that Doflamingo alluded to is downtown, where the buildings are all townhouses housing two or three families, where the road is made of cobblestone and where children run freely in simple shorts and shirts kicking a ball around. Masaomi has to dance like a bee to keep from tripping over all the pots of carnations and roses set out in elaborate displays. In a restaurant’s fenced outdoor patio up ahead, he sees a man proposing to a woman, and everyone claps for the couple when she says yes. Men with thick moustaches sit outside to strum a soft tune on their guitars. Couples here stroll idly, unlike uptown where they were all in a rush. Masaomi slows his pace to take in the lantern light.

“I didn’t even realize the sun had set,” Masaomi says, hand tightening around Doflamingo’s.

“I’d be surprised if you knew what _day_ it is, let alone what _time_ it is.” Masaomi tenses, hesitating to glance up at Doflamingo. He expected Masaomi to forget. What _else_ did he expect? Masaomi bites his lip. “It’s something we made up, anyways.”

That throws him for a loop. “You think humans made up time?”

“We made up its meaning. Before we existed, do you think the birds and the bees and the fish of the sea knew what it meant to grow old and die? Did it matter to the sun and the stars how long the planet took to revolve around them? None but us made it into something we should fear.”

Gears turn in his head. Where was this going? “The rings of the great oak tell of its age, a dog will cry over the death of its owner, and you can teach an ape to talk and it will tell you when it’s ready to die,” Masaomi shoots back. “How would they do those things if they could not ascertain the meaning of time?”

Doflamingo smirks. “An ape cannot understand death, just as an oak cannot understand growing old. We’re above them, that’s how we know what it _means_ to die.”

“And what does it mean to die, big bird?”

“It’s simple.” Doflamingo chuckles and shakes his head like he’s explaining an elementary concept. “Every time I look at you, I know.”

Masaomi sputters and doubles over laughing. He falls against Doflamingo’s hip, hiding his burning face. His shoulders calm, and that’s when he looks up at Doflamingo, his eyes full of hearts. “You rascal. No word from your mouth meant anything.” He’s playfully accusatory, but Doflamingo’s smile is gentle. His lack of response has Masaomi’s face flushing further. The hope that his comments were in jest dwindles, and within a minute, Masaomi can’t feel his face anymore, and he lets himself fall back against Doflamingo. The two of them stand there a moment as Doflamingo’s hand traces soothing patterns along Masaomi’s shoulders and neck. Wherever he touches, Masaomi burns.

If only Doflamingo could keep touching him like this. One hand on his head is all it’d take to quell the doubt that’d been eating away at his excitement. A kiss to his hand and the expectation that something will ruin this dissipates. Wrapped in his arms and he’d be convinced of his place in Doflamingo’s life. Yet he lets go. He always does, and he does so with a hardened gaze, unlike the glazed look of before. Always stopping himself from indulging further. Just like that, they’re separate again. This time it’s Doflamingo who walks ahead.

Swallowing the feeling of impending doom, Masaomi follows along, silent until they stop at the canal, where others have gathered as well. It overlooks the sea, though the details of the city blur with the darkness of dusk settling in. Lanterns floating on the water do little to light the sky. Masaomi’s eyes follow the golden glow as it flickers over Doflamingo’s frame. He stands hunched over the railing, breathing evenly, mouth pressed into a thin line. Further he climbs, until he realizes in alarm that Doflamingo’s eyes are on him, and he stares back. As lanterns pass them by, the light casts shadows across his glasses. There comes a moment when Masaomi can see the details of his eyes. He blinks. There they are again. 

When the fire approaches at the right angle, their eyes can truly meet, and whenever they meet, Masaomi’s heart thunders louder and louder. Louder than the flow of the river, louder than the fireworks that Masaomi cannot say with any certainty when they began. Louder than the crowd’s _ooh’s_ and _ah’s_ and cheering, and louder than the band’s music behind them.

But not louder than Doflamingo, who turns to face him and runs his hand along Masaomi’s jaw, pressing a thumb to his lip. Not louder than Doflamingo when he leans down to wrap a golden necklace around Masaomi’s throat, and is just close enough that the heat of his breath is on Masaomi’s ear. Not louder than Doflamingo when he says, “My little bird, _enough_.”

The necklace is layered, he can tell from the feel of the twists in his hand. Every strand is thinner than his hair. Along the loose ends there are studs, what he can only assume are diamonds. Counting, there are at least twenty to thirty of them. It’s a gift that only Doflamingo could afford to get him. So this is what he is worth to Doflamingo. And how much is Doflamingo worth to him? His own hands were empty. They shake. Enough. _Enough._ That’s what Doflamingo said. He sounds exasperated. It’s so cold, his skin prickles. “Enough?” What does this gift mean when he cannot return it? Enough of this, enough of _him_ , presumably. Ah, that makes sense. “I, I don’t— My apologies, but I don’t have anything to offer in return. I’m sorry, truly, y-you, you’re—” _You’re worth so much more than anything money could buy._

Doflamingo’s warm hands envelope his own, cutting him off. “There is _nothing_ you could’ve bought me that I don’t already have.” Salt in a stab wound, it stings. He attempts to pull his hands away, but Doflamingo won’t let him. “ _Masaomi._ ”

Masaomi flinches. He still hasn’t glanced away, wanting to see the look in Doflamingo’s eyes when he inevitably ends this. He’s still convincing himself he’s used to this.

“I’m tired of this. Enough of your thinking, enough of your _doubt_.” Enough. Doflamingo’s had enough. This is it. _Brace yourself._ “You are _mine_ , _only_ mine, and you will be until _I_ decide otherwise.”

“...What?” The world around them stops.

Doflamingo’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m going to skin those idiots alive.”

“Huh? Who— What? Y-You mean Miss Sugar? And Jora and Trebol and Lao G?”

Doflamingo only laughs harder at the mention of their names. “They put a stupid idea into your head and for that—” He takes a breather, then starts laughing again. “I’ll kill them.”

The laugh is contagious, and soon Masaomi is giggling with him. Around them the crowd has dispersed, leaving only a few stragglers to witness the two of them falling to the grass in hysterics, but they don’t matter, no one else does.

Doflamingo wraps his arms around Masaomi and pulls him to sit in his lap. “For such a little bird, you can be incredibly dense.”

“If I’m so dense, then maybe I should not be sitting in your lap.” Masaomi squirms in the hold. “Wouldn’t want to crush you.”

“Now, now, don’t play like that.” Masaomi would say he was close to the sweet release of victory, but then Doflamingo went and cheated by kissing his face and neck. A sneak attack! Truly a bastard. 

The excitement dies down, and the both of them lay calmly together. Doflamingo’s hands trace along the shell of Masaomi’s ear. It’s been quite a while since anyone was around them. Their only company is the occasional lantern floating down the river. Between them a silence collects dust, until Doflamingo disturbs it again. “Should’ve learned by now you can’t hide anything from me.”

Masaomi scoffs at that. “Oh great and wise teacher, tell me how else I am wrong.”

“You brat.” He tugs lightly on the ends of Masaomi’s hair. “Stop overthinking everything.”

Masaomi lays his head against Doflamingo’s shoulder. Stop overthinking, he says, as Masaomi’s mind races constantly from point A to delta to ten and back again in the span of a millisecond. By the time he has finished one thought, twenty more have branched from every word. His tangents’ tangents had tangents upon tangents. 

“Masaomi.” He looks up and almost melts under the heat of Doflamingo’s gaze. There it is, the sun being swallowed by the sky and the night draping the earth in eternal winter, yet its heart keeps burning despite being asleep, blanketed by the moon and the stars. From above, Doflamingo’s breathing ruffles his hair, gentler than any breeze. Nestled like this in his arms, Masaomi lets his eyes fall shut, all tension draining out of him.

“What is a gift worthy of _you_ , Doflamingo?”

Doflamingo snorts, shaking his head. “You still don’t get it?” The silence draws a long sigh from him. “You.” There’s a reaction then. Masaomi’s breath hitches. Doflamingo waits, and when he doesn’t hear anything else, he smirks to himself and runs a hand through his little bird’s hair. They can sit for a little while longer.


End file.
